Snow tanning

Mrs. Claus and Santa seem to be revelling in this morning's snow tanning. That's all you can hope for here in Edmonton today.

Epiphany

It has been five years since I wrote this story, and it's still how I like to imagine the visitation of the travellers from the East to the Holy Family. But this morning when I read it, it dawned on me that the wise ones probably gave away their all, so I made a small adjustment to my tale. Do you know what it is?

This story seems extra fitting this year, with all our Syrian refugee families arriving daily.

Happy Epiphany!

Monica’s Epiphany

Christmas was a week away, and Monica was in miserable martyr mode. Hurrying along the mall concourse, she chanted a litany of the things she still needed to find: new Christmas candles, some slivered almonds, two new pillows, and—oh dear, she had forgotten something. What was it? What was it?

Sighing deeply, Monica paused at the food court, racking her brain for the missing item. Seeing an empty table for two, she found her way through a crowd of shoppers having late afternoon snacks. She sat down and slid her bags and parcels onto the table top. There was already more than an armload; how was she going to lug all this and two pillows home on the bus? Frowning, she picked up her purse and rifled through it for her shopping list.

The search was fruitless, and her mood worsened -- she would never get everything done without that list! Looking at her Christmas purchases, she thought hard about each store she had visited and where the list might be, but there was no way of knowing whether she’d find it if she back-tracked. Besides, she didn’t have time. Her bus home was less than an hour away.

This business of Christmas was highly overrated as far as Monica was concerned. Holding a commercial festival that had nothing to do with anything was ridiculous, really. Not being religious in any sense of the word, Monica couldn’t for the life of her understand why thinking adults would put themselves through the yearly chaos surrounding the birth of a mythological biblical character who was supposed to be God, but she grudgingly went along with it. Her husband and kids seemed to sort of believe in something about it all, and she couldn’t refuse them anything. For her own part, Monica was ready to call it quits entirely.

Furious with herself and the missing Christmas list, Monica scanned the noisy crowd around her until her eyes halted on a group of three elderly men sitting in the midst of the hubbub, grinning at her. Unnerved, she turned and looked behind her, thinking they might be amused by something going on at the Chinese food counter. When she turned back, their eyes were on the playing cards they each held in their hands. The old Asian fellow was laughing at something the white-haired man of African descent was saying. The small, grey-goateed Middle Eastern-looking gent threw his cards on the table with glee, and Monica actually heard a roar of mock disapproval from the other two over the noise of the crowd. They were clearly having a good time, while she was having everything but.

Monica shook her head. It wouldn’t surprise her if the old roosters’ wives were running themselves ragged doing Christmas errands while the men didn’t lift a finger. Husbands were all the same. Wasn’t Al home reading the paper or watching TV? He complained that he hated mall mayhem this time of year. Well, so did she, but someone had to prepare for Christmas.

An hour later, Monica sat on the bus, her parcels taking up the seat beside her, causing frowns among the passengers who were stuck standing in the aisle during rush hour. Avoiding their eyes, she checked her bags one more time. A sweater for Al, gift cards for the grandkids, pine potpourri and the new pillows (suggested in that Debbie Travis article), chocolates (for the boy who shoveled her sidewalk and any extra friends who might show up with a gift that had to be reciprocated), new Christmas towels for the bathroom, slivered almonds for cookies, three extra Christmas cards (for the friends she had crossed off her mailing list because they didn’t send cards last year, but who sent cards this year), and earrings for her friend Teresa.

 Not bad a bad haul, though she hadn’t come up with a gift for her daughter Janie. As Monica closed the last bag, she spotted her Christmas shopping list slipping to its bottom, crossly snatched it out, and didn’t have to read further than the first item. Silver polish! She had forgotten the silver polish! Her head dropped as angry tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back and looked up, right into the face of one of the men she had seen playing cards at the food court.

His dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, and he removed his hat to reveal thin, curly white hair that contrasted with his dark skin. “If I held the biggest bag on my lap,” he said in a deep voice with a faint but unmistakeable accent, “would you mind if I sat beside you?”

Surprised, Monica shuffled the smaller bags aside as the man lifted her bag of pillows and slid his lanky legs beneath them. His hands were black against the downy whiteness of the pillows peeking out, and the tender pinkness of his palms and fingernails embarrassed Monica somehow.

“I forgot the silver polish,” she confessed quickly, then wondered why she had said it.

“Silver polish?” the stranger repeated. “Is it important?”

“Well, yes,” Monica replied. “I polish the silver every year for Christmas.”

The man considered that for a moment, then said, “Why?”

“Well, it gets tarnished. It’s a wedding gift, and we’ve always used it for Christmas dinner.”

“What would happen if you didn’t use it?” her seatmate asked, looking her in the eye.

“I don’t know. I suppose that as long as everyone has knives and forks, that’s all that really matters.”

“So who are you polishing the silver for?” he asked, smiling.

Monica’s mouth dropped open. She was about to protest, but surprised herself by saying, “I’ve always hated polishing the silver.”

“So why not make a change?” the stranger said gently. “Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine,” he grinned, wiggling his white bushy eyebrows.

Monica almost rolled her eyes like a teenager faced with Mom’s advice, but smiled instead. “I guess you’re right,” she said.

“Here’s my stop,” said her seatmate. “Thanks for the seat.” Leaving her pillows beside her, he shuffled past others to the front of the bus and disembarked. As the bus pulled away, Monica watched his figure recede in the darkness.

Someone touched her shoulder. “I sit?” said the small Asian man she had also seen at the food court.

“Of—of course,” Monica said, and looked past him to see the third card player, the one with the goatee, holding onto a handrail. The Asian man took her pillows and held them on his lap as he settled beside her. He beamed, nodded, and pulled a folded newspaper from under his arm. “I going to Christmas concert tonight,” he said, pointing to a notice in the paper. Handel’s Messiah. “You go to Christmas concerts?” he asked.

“I used to, when my family was younger,” Monica replied. “But now that they’ve left home I have too much to do to get everything ready for Christmas. Tomorrow, I need to put up the tree and get going on my Christmas cleaning, and after that I have to decorate. Oh, and bake almond cookies.”

“Ah. Why you do so much things? Husband, children no help, or you not like help?” he asked. “Why they don’t help so you can enjoy Christmas, go to concerts?”

Monica was speechless. She had never really asked for help. But now that she thought about it, Al probably wouldn’t mind setting up the tree, and Janie would likely be willing to come over and wash some walls and clean the china cabinet for her. Monica's daughter had always loved that cabinet and its porcelain statues. Come to think of it, Janie should choose one or two of those dust-collecting treasures as her Christmas gift this year. And her twelve-year-old daughter, Sara, would probably love to make almond snow drops for her Girl Guide badge, since she swore they were her favourite cookie.

“I suppose I could ask for help,” Monica murmured.

“Confucius say, “They must often change who would be constant in happiness and wisdom.” Yes, ask for help. Go to concerts,” her seatmate said, pointing again to his newspaper as he tucked it in with her pillows and stood up. “My stop, good bye.”

“Oh. Goodbye,” Monica murmured, too late, as the little man hustled forward and stepped gingerly off the bus. He waved at her as the bus pulled away. When she turned back from the window, the third card player was sitting beside her.

“What is it with you guys?” she said.

The grey-goateed man smiled and shrugged, saying with a thick accent, “We have been friends for many years. But we noticed you didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself this afternoon.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Monica admitted. “I misplaced my Christmas shopping list, and couldn’t remember the things I intended to buy. So I forgot the silver polish… and -- oh no! Spicehill Farms gift boxes for my neighbours.” She cursed internally.

The man shrugged again. “Do you like your neighbours?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t buy them presents if I didn’t.”

His eyes twinkled. “So who needs sausages and cheeses? Do something different instead. Our only true security is our ability to change. Why not invite your neighbours over for some Christmas cheer?”

Monica laughed. Years ago, when Christmas was simpler, didn’t she and Al host a neighbourhood Christmas party? And invite the Magnussens, Wongs, Chomiks and Leighs? How had that tradition been forgotten when it was such a good one? Oh yes, Al had pneumonia that one year, she had the flu the next…

“Good idea,” Monica said, smiling. “Why are you and your friends so wise?”

The man smiled, shrugged, and put his finger to his lips. “Please excuse me. This is my stop.” He stood and handed Monica her pillows. “Have a Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Thank you,” Monica smiled. “And thank your friends, too. You all gave me good ideas.”

When Monica reached home, she was surprised to find Al in the process of putting up a Christmas tree. “TV got boring,” he said, as she gave him a kiss. “I thought you might like some help. And I’m warming last night’s casserole leftovers in the oven. I hope that meets your approval.”

Monica felt like applauding, but settled for giving him an extra kiss. “How would you feel about taking in Handel’s Messiah tonight?” she asked.

After an incredible evening of letting Handel’s glorious music wash over her, Monica had the most vivid dream of her life.

She dreamed she was walking a rugged path in a cool, dark valley, the sky above her sparkling with more stars than she had ever seen, though the edge of the horizon held the palest glow of coming dawn. There was just enough light that Monica could see the path ahead of her for a short distance. Somewhere behind her, there was a gentle jangling of bells.

Suddenly, the bells became louder, and Monica turned to see a large beast come over a rise in the path. A tall man in a turban was silhouetted against the sky where it had begun to lighten. He limped along, leading another man on a camel. A second man walked behind them. Instinctively, Monica stepped off the path into some shrubs to let them pass, but the procession came to a halt.

The elderly black man in the lead looked familiar to Monica, but she couldn’t place him. He began to speak to her, but she didn’t understand a word. He paused, and tried again, a different sounding language, and again, another language she couldn’t begin to recognize. He turned to his friends, and they each tried to speak with her, but nothing they said resembled English in any way. So the leader reverted to sign language, pointing toward a small village ahead, and to the camel, indicating that he wanted Monica to ride.

“Oh, no, no,” she replied, and then remembered that he probably didn’t understand her. “You’re limping, she said, pointing to his foot and doing an imitation, then gesturing from him to the camel. “You should ride.”

But the goateed man on the camel had already dismounted, and the two of them pushed Monica toward it, making clucking noises against her protests, helping her into the saddle. The two men linked arms and hobbled slowly down the path toward a sleeping village, the beast below Monica tossing from side to side in an ancient rhythm unfamiliar to her. She turned to the Asian man who walked behind her, and he shrugged and smiled encouragement. Why did they all look so familiar?

The single-camel caravan stopped as it reached the outskirts of the little town, and the men gathered to confer in a soft-sounding language. The goateed man drew some instruments out of a sack that was fastened to his belt, and seemed to take a reading from the fading stars. After a short discussion, a point in the direction of the far end of town, and quiet murmurs of assent, the three men resumed their positions.

Somewhere a rooster crowed as the light increased, and a few more joined in chorus. The little procession passed through the shadows of the dusty town, only the sounds of harness bells and the camel's footfalls echoing from stone walls. The group was almost at the last home in the village when they stopped. The men came to help Monica down across the camel's saddlebags before unpacking some beautifully ornate jars and boxes.

Monica stood alone, not knowing what to do next, but the three men beckoned that she should come with them to the door of a tiny house with a dim light in one of the windows. Curious, she followed them, standing to the side as the goateed man rapped on the door. The light in the window increased, and a moment later, a tousled-haired girl bearing a lamp peeked through the door. Surprise registered on her face as her eyes travelled from face to face. Nodding to Monica, she murmured a moment in the soft-sounding language Monica had heard the men speaking, and disappeared for a few moments. The goateed man made a comment, and all three chuckled as the girl returned to the door, pulling a robe around her slim body.

The girl opened the door and held the lamp aloft, gesturing that the visitors should enter. Monica found herself swept into the tiny home with the rustle of the three strangers’ robes. She was standing in the middle of a single room. A man on a mat in the corner raised himself onto an elbow, and a tiny child peeked out from under the blanket that covered the two. The girl set the lamp on the room’s only table, turned to a shelf on the wall and brought down a pitcher and bowl. She was reaching for a towel when the man with the goatee said something that made her stop mid-reach. He gestured toward the two on the bed. The child had sat up, his dark curly hair standing on end, his eyes reflecting the lamplight, and the man put an arm around him and spoke what seemed a soft challenge to the visitors.

The child looked intently at Monica as the man with the goatee took a step back, waving one hand in dismay, speaking softly. Monica scrunched her eyes at the little one the way she had with her own grandbabies, and he grinned, put a finger in his mouth, and scrunched his whole face as his father and the stranger spoke to one another. The girl put one hand to her mouth and sank to the table’s bench, following the conversation with her eyes. Monica wondered what was being said, but continued to exchange blinks and winks with the little tyke.

Suddenly, he wiggled out from under his protector’s arm and stood up, taking three steps toward the girl. Almost as suddenly, the three men standing in the doorway dropped to their knees, smiling, reaching toward the little one. The child toddled to the girl’s knee, and she lifted him to her lap, smoothing his hair, but he wiggled and slid to the ground again. Then he went to Monica, who had crouched to his level.

Silence filled the room, and the lamplight seemed a little brighter, Monica thought. The child looked into her eyes questioningly, and smiled. “Ah, you’re a charmer,” she murmured, reaching out to tousle his curly hair. She let herself down onto the floor, and he plunked down in front of her, legs akimbo.

“I don’t suppose you know Patty-cake, do you?” she said, and he wrinkled his nose in a quizzical fashion. “Here,” she said, taking his hands and smacking his palms in gentle rhythm, “Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s man…”

The next thing she knew, the girl was sitting behind the little one, pulling him into her lap, listening intently to the rhyme. Once the cake had been put “in the oven for baby and me,” the child clapped as if to say, “again,” and Monica repeated it. When she finished, the girl smiled shyly, and began to clap her son’s hands in a different rhythm and sing a little melody, pausing for the child to fill in syllables now and then. Monica looked over at the other visitors, and they too were sitting on the floor, eyes shining, watching the clapping game, smiling and nodding at the child.

His eyes moved over the three strange men, and he clambered off his mother’s lap toward the one who was closest to him. He touched the Asian man’s wrinkled cheek, and the old man touched the child’s cheek and murmured what only could have been appreciation. The little one then moved to the one with the goatee and touched the tip of his rather bulbous nose with one finger. He laughed, and the goateed one laughed, and flattened his nose with his own fingertip, crossing his eyes, making the toddler giggle. Finally, the boy reached the darkest one. The old man closed his eyes, smiling as little fingers traced his bushy white eyebrows. Then he opened his eyes, took the child’s hand, and kissed it gently.

The young man on the mat had tied his thin blanket around his waist and moved to the table. He unwrapped a few crusts of bread in a towel, offering them to the three visitors. They shook their heads, the goateed one responded at length, and then turned to the others in conferral. The three then removed from the folds of their robes the ornate boxes and jars that Monica saw earlier, and held them out to the young couple. The girl shook her head, but the old one with the goatee slowly got to his feet and went to her, pressing his boxes set with stones into her hands before returning to help his fellow travelers to their feet so they could do the same with their jars. The goateed one spoke with some urgency to the young man, and a look of alarm crossed his smooth face. He swallowed hard, making eye contact with the girl. The two nodded almost imperceptibly, and the girl scooped up the child and gave him to Monica.

Confused, Monica and the child watched from their place on the floor as the young couple moved uncertainly about the room, seemingly in a panic. The black stranger grasped the blanket the young man was wearing, and Monica averted her eyes and began playing Pattycake with the little boy while the young man dressed and the old one folded up the bedding. The Asian man wrapped up the bread that had just been offered him and handed it to the girl as the goateed man took a rough cloth sack from a hook on the wall and gave it to her. The young man brought a hammer and chisel, and a small shirt that he passed to Monica so she could dress the child while the rest hurriedly but carefully packed the few things from the room into the sack, including the gifts the strangers had brought. When the child’s head and arms emerged from his little shirt, he clapped his hands and made grunting noises to the patty-cake rhythm, and Monica repeated it again, smiling in spite of the anxiety she was feeling.

The girl interrupted the game by wrapping a blanket around her son’s shoulders. She spoke softly to him for a few moments, and he raised his arms to her. She picked him up, and he snuggled into her neck as she rummaged in the top of the sack for the bread. She broke off a crust and gave it to him, and he offered it to Monica.

“Ah, no, little one,” she smiled. “It’s your breakfast.” The young woman smiled an anxious smile, and before Monica knew what she was doing, she held both mother and child in a wordless embrace.
The young man appeared at the girl’s elbow, speaking rapidly as he hefted the bag and gestured toward the door. But the tall black man held up a hand for a moment, opened the door a crack, and looked out. Cautiously pushing the door open, he led the young couple and child out into the slanting early morning light. Monica and the others followed.

The young man made a deep bow toward the three, put his arm around his wife and child, and was about to walk along a path that led into the hills when the Asian man became quite agitated, pointing toward the horizon, where a cloud of dust could be seen advancing toward the village. Waving his hands, he spoke quickly to his companions and grabbed the young man’s sack of belongings. The other two men had hurried to the camel, unloading bedrolls and satchels before tying the young man’s sack and their own canteens to the camel’s saddle and handing the young man the beast’s lead.

The Asian man took the child from his mother and gave him to Monica as the other two visitors helped the girl mount the saddle. Monica kissed the child's curly crown and lifted the little one up to the girl, whose eyes were misty as she spoke words of what seemed to be gratitude to the three visitors and Monica. The men smiled and bowed, and Monica followed their lead, then crinkled her eyes at the child, who responded in kind. 
The goateed man spoke seriously with the young man for a moment, pointing first one direction, then another. The young man nodded, gripped the older man’s arm, and hugged him tightly for a moment. Then he nodded to the other two, who coaxed the camel to its feet and began shouting and slapping its backside. The young man led the lumbering beast up the path without looking back. The girl and her child, their eyes dark, their smiles bright, turned and waved to the strangers who had come to visit. Then the girl wrapped herself and her child in her cloak, and the two turned to face their seemingly uncertain future.

Monica stood watching until the little family disappeared over a rise. When she turned around, the three old men were standing with the things they had unloaded from the camel that had just left. The goateed man threw up his hands in disgust and spoke to the Asian fellow in a rather irritated tone. The Asian rolled his eyes and shrugged, and the black one guffawed. A moment later, all three were laughing. Their laughter rang like bells, peal after peal, and Monica was laughing too, even though the joke was beyond her. As she turned toward the horizon, her laughter caught in her throat and her smile faded. Her companions’ eyes followed hers, and Monica heard the sound of marching echoing through the streets.

“You—you saved them, didn’t you?” she said, pointing toward the hill where the young couple had vanished. “You knew they were in danger, and you warned them. Your camel was probably the best gift you gave them. How will you travel now?”

The goateed one reached for Monica’s arm, lowered it to her side, shrugged, and put his finger to his lips. Then he whispered, in a thick accent, “God grant me the serenity to accept the situations I cannot change, the courage to change the ones I can, and the wisdom to do what must be done.” 

Monica woke, and wondered.

Though she never saw her three wise men again, Monica took their words to heart. Her silver was donated to a charity sale, she now involves her family in pre-Christmas preparation (and has discovered that they actually enjoy helping out), and she has stopped worrying about buying her neighbours gifts and has started inviting them over more often.

Since then, every year during the Christmas season, Monica approaches an inner city charity and asks for the name of a needy young refugee couple with a small child. She buys blankets, food, and a Patty-cake book, and leaves them on the family’s doorstep on Christmas Eve.

Monica is a changed woman.

I love winter walks...

Especially when the sun is setting, which is around 4:25 pm these days in Edmonton. Here are a few pics from a stroll around the Highlands Golf Course and along Ada Boulevard...

Lee and Shadow wait for me to catch up...

A shiny golden ball...

that turns seed pods golden too...

the setting sun...

Magrath's Mansion is still impressive 

(a young lady we know held her marriage celebrations

there last fall)...

but I liked watching the sun set even better.

Sunset walks are highly recommended.

A Psalm for a New Year

image courtesy of Yahoo

Last night we went out to Elk Island National Park for New Year's Eve, and as I stood in the snow looking up at some pretty spectacular Aurora Borealis flaming across the sky, a psalm started forming in my heart.

In the tradition of Edward Hays, one of my favourite authors, I offer it to you as a prayerful start to 2016.

Happy New Year!


A New Year's Psalm

We praise you, O God,
for new beginnings --
fresh footprintless fields with unplanned paths,
clear calendars and unwritten words,
unperceived passages and paths that we will discover in the year ahead.

We thank you for the year that has passed
with its many challenges, loves and losses,
its ups and downs.
We offer you our joys and sorrows from the last twelve months
and ask that you bless us and heal us as needed.

We invite you to become our home
in the twelve months ahead,
to be our refuge, joy and strength
in all the twists and turns of life that we cannot foresee.

In the days to come,
bring your justice and peace into our world through our actions.
Make us mindful of the difference we can make.
Help us to love as you love, without reserve.
Please be gracious to us and bless us
so that we may also bless those you send into our lives,
especially those most in need of blessing.
Make our hearts like yours in the year ahead, O Lover of all,
and bless your world with the kind of peace that is found in love.

We exult and rejoice in your presence with us
and trust in your goodness to us.
Let your face shine on us and on all of your creation in this New Year,
for you are our courage and our hope.

From the rising of the sun to its setting
and all the moments in between
we praise you,
God of life.

+Amen.

A pre-Christmas mountain trip

Christmas lights in Jasper

For a few days before Christmas, our little family went to Jasper, Alberta, to enjoy fresh mountain air and a wee winter break. It was cold but gorgeous. We arrived to moonlit mountains and, after checking into our hotel, immediately went stargazing near Patricia Lake, where we experienced not the sound of music, but the sound of wapiti calling in the woods surrounding the lake -- a strange, sometimes grating or whooshing, sometimes thumping sound.

Lee and Christina got in a bit of skiing while the rest of us took a walk with a friend around Lake Beauvert. We hit the best pizzeria in Jasper for lunch, did a bit of shopping, and took a wonderful winter nap before a marvellous meal at L&W Greek restaurant. Returning to the hotel, we took a dip in the hot tub and relaxed for the rest of the evening.

My favourite moments of the trip were the next day at Pyramid Lake, 

where we skated on the ice loop,

Julia tried some woodblock curling

and we had a crazy game of 3-on-3 boot hockey. 

After a late lunch, a few of us walked up Maligne Canyon to see the ice falls, which is something I've always wanted to do.

We cooked supper in our kitchenette and hurried to down town Jasper on foot to see Star Wars, but arrived just as the manager of the movie theatre was posting a SOLD OUT sign. Oh well. Back in our room we saw the movie Philomena instead, an amazing story of loss and forgiveness.

It was a beautiful break, and continues to be a relaxing holiday.

Christmas finally arrives

Due to a few people being a bit under the weather this year, we celebrated Christmas as a family tonight. A yummy dinner, incredible Christmas karaoke, gift opening, and a yummy dessert. So you could say I'm really feeling Christmas now. It just wasn't right without the family connections.

So although the carols aren't playing much now that December 25th has passed, I'm determined to enjoy and celebrate right up to the Baptism of Christ on January 10th. And today I'm celebrating by re-posting the little video below from St. Paul Arts and Media. Merry Christmas!

Love has come to walk among us

This Christmas eve, I am struck by the fact that the Holy Family are a sharp contrast to so many of us celebrating the birth of the Child. We in the western world lack for nothing, but they were poor travellers with no place to lay their heads. Then they became refugees, running from a mad king who was afraid that the Child might usurp his powers. These days, we all know about refugees, and some of us are afraid of them.

But that little family and its holy Child call us to a simple awareness of those among us who are frightened, far from home, alone, struggling, or looking for a friend -- we who have so much are invited to be generous, warm-hearted and loving. Do we have more than a stable to offer?

Today, I was listening to Michael W. Smith's Christmas Album and was struck by a line in his Anthem for Christmas: "Love has come to walk among us/ Christ the Lord is born this night."

Let's not fail to notice the love that waits to be noticed as it walks quietly among us, or to live it and be it ourselves. That's why Christ came -- to call us to BE love, so that love walks among us always.

Thanks to Alwyn Barry for posting this YouTube video (with Chris Monson's fitting images) so that you all can hear the Anthem for Christmas for yourselves. It's an inspiring and inspired piece of music.

Have a blessed Christmas, my friends, and BE love all year long.

The Selfish Giant

Everyone probably has a few unforgettable stories in their lives, bits of literature that never quite leave us, though we may forget them for years at a time. For me, it's Hugh Lofting's stories of Doctor Doolittle, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, and Farley Mowat's Owls in the Family.

And then there's this one, Oscar Wilde's The Selfish Giant. I've been looking for this 1971 Canadian short film version on and off for the last several years, and was delighted to discover last Friday that someone finally put it up on YouTube. I've always loved the story of the Giant's redemption (though I couldn't have expressed that when I first saw it when I was six), and its images have stayed with me -- the Giant's odd whiskers, the disappointed children, the way Snow spreads her cloak over the Giant's garden, the Viking-god-like North Wind, Hail dancing on the roof of the castle, and the Little Child walking with the Giant at the end of the story.

The animation isn't as sophisticated as my children are used to, but the tale still succeeds in melting my heart a little. In my books it's a Christmas story because TV stations seemed to play it only at Christmas during my childhood (with Kraft foods commercials at the breaks).

If you've never seen or read The Selfish Giant before, or if you haven't seen it in years, enjoy.

A new favourite Christmas song

It's been a long time since a really good Christmas song has given me goosebumps, but last night my sister's grade six class sang one -- the kind that makes my heart inexplicably happy, my toes tap involuntarily, and my eyes fill with bright unshed tears of joy. And I find out afterward that the song was released in 2013 on the album, Merry Christmas to You, by the Sidewalk Prophets, a Country band from Nashville.

There's something about the simplicity and happiness of Oh What a Glorious Night... and the final verse, sung gently, like a lullaby. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

The best little Christmas Pageant ever...

was last night, and unfortunately, I had to miss it this year. But my eldest daughter didn't, and she wrote a lovely blog post about it, which you can access by clicking here. Why not see if her little story makes you smile? I can just see it all... and her happiness is contagious.

My (very early) morning at the Museum

Edmonton said goodbye to the old Royal Alberta Museum last weekend by inviting the public to a 48-hour marathon farewell. I talked about it with my girls and mentioned that if we were to attend, we should pick a time when it wouldn't be too crowded -- like four in the morning (over 35,000 people visited in those 48 hours, and my sister experienced the crowds on Friday night and wished she'd stayed home).

"Let's do it!" said Julia, our youngest daughter. So I told her to set her alarm for 4 a.m. Sunday morning and we'd go.

At 4:15 a.m. Julia came and woke me from a very sound sleep. I was confused by her appearance in our room until she said, "It's time to go to the museum, Mom."

"Do you really want to go?" I asked, preparing to haul myself out from under my warm blankets.

"Not really," she said, and headed back to her bedroom. Oh well.

But you don't wake me at 4:15 a.m. and expect me to go back to sleep. I laid in bed hoping to doze off, but after 45 minutes I decided: "Maria, if you don't get up and go to the museum to say goodbye, it will be one of those things you'll regret." (I've always been a sentimental fool of sorts.)

Had to see these pioneers one more time.

I tried to wake my girls to take them along, but they seemed more interested in their pillows, so I ate some breakfast, made a travel mug of coffee, and drove through a dark and disorienting downtown, arriving at the museum at 5:31 a.m.

As I walked in, I realized that it was the first time I had ever been to the Royal Alberta Museum alone. I found myself moodling about how museums are a place of wonder and awe about life as I spent a lovely two hours wandering around, remembering different experiences from my past:

as a grade five student learning about Alberta's first peoples,

 as a grade eight student learning to identify Alberta wildlife, 

I always loved the cub on the lower right, playing with a feather

as a teacher bringing my own grade four class to learn about rocks, 

Mark S. and Jon H. liked the UV rock room...

and as a mom, trying to stay calm as my child held a centipede from Madagascar!

"Mom! Mom! It doesn't feel slimy at all!"

Walking through the museum by myself was quite wonderful. 

There was no one to hurry me along 

so I looked at things at my own speed 

and even watched an entire 15-minute video loop 

about Aboriginal traditions from start to finish. 

But I'll admit it would have been much nicer 

to share the experience with my girls 

(who in the end were sorry to have missed one last visit to the museum).

At the end of my morning, I went to the Goodbye/Hello room

 and found myself a little emotional 

as I wrote my own message to sum up 

my 30+ years of experience at the museum:

On the way home, I was rewarded with a gorgeous sunrise

along the boardwalk overlooking Victoria Park.

The museum closed its doors nine hours later, 

and will reopen in a new location in downtown Edmonton

in two years. It will be hard for the new museum 

to beat the memories I treasure from its old location,

that's for sure.

Laudato Si: Sunday Reflection #21... "Realities are more important than ideas"

Did you follow any of the coverage of the Climate Conference in Paris? I missed a lot of it, but did hear the appeal of some island countries who were begging that world leaders do everything in their power to keep the climate from warming more than 1.5 degrees or their lands could end up underwater due to melting polar icecaps. It's just another proof of the idea expressed in the title of this moodling, taken directly from Laudato Si:On Care for Our Common Home, Pope Francis' letter to our world.

This week I've been studying part of "The Globalization of the Technocratic Paradigm," paragraphs 106-110, which are basically all about technology's role in our present ecological crises (the paragraphs can be accessed by clicking here and scrolling down).

For a long while, it seems, we have been dreaming that technology will be the solution to all our problems. Paragraph 106 notes that technology depends upon human beings who, "using logical and rational procedures, progressively and rationally gain control" over our surroundings through "a technique of possession, mastery and domination." But the earth is God's gift to us, and we are finally realizing that such a technique doesn't work because the earth is not meant to be possessed, mastered and dominated only by human beings, and that there is no "infinite and unlimited growth" when it comes to the earth's energy and resources and their renewal. Mastery and domination are a dead end if we end up destroying the only planet we have.

We like to think that the many advances in technology in our lifetime mean that we have also advanced in knowledge and wisdom -- but as we saw last week, wisdom is a different creature altogether, and it's clear that the two come unglued from one another too easily. While it is true that we have come a long way in knowing how to build and create and impose order with our machines and computers and factories, we have not been able to foresee the ways these technological advances have endangered our existence -- until the hole appeared in the ozone layer, the polar icecaps and glaciers began to melt, species started disappearing at an alarming rate, and the fabric of our societies began to fray. Technology is just one kind of knowledge (which doesn't necessarily include wisdom), and "technological products are not neutral, for they create a framework which ends up conditioning lifestyles and shaping social possibilities along the lines dictated by the interests of certain powerful groups" (paragraph 107).

And who are those powerful groups? Can we trust them to improve life for all species on our earth? Not so far. Allow me one example: several big oil companies have provided us with necessary heat and transportation in the past century, but at what cost? When scientists began to notice that our climate was heating up, corporations produced 'experts' to undermine the truth their own researchers had uncovered. Money and power were more important to them than facing up to reality, so they manipulated knowledge to confuse the public with arguments that climate change was a hoax, wasting precious time we should have been using to find and develop alternate energy sources. It's only in these last months of 2015 that we have finally started to hear about the possibility of climate litigation against some of these offenders -- and it's also taken us this long to reach a climate agreement last week in Paris, one that will demand more effort than would have been required had we begun when rising temperatures were first noticed in the 60s...

For many of us, knowledge and technology have become so integrated into our daily existence and so indispensable in our daily tasks that "It has become counter-cultural to choose a lifestyle whose goals are even partly independent of technology, of its costs and its power to globalize and make us all the same" (paragraph 108). But where technology and its particular kind of knowledge are destroying habitats and species, we need to stand against it, to be counter-cultural.

But it's never easy to buck a trend, is it? For example, not to have a cell phone in this day and age is to be "out of the loop." And yet, as I look around and notice how many people on the bus have their eyes fixed on their mobile phones, or when I am forced to overhear someone loudly talking to her boyfriend, I'm not wishing that I had one. I don't want my life to operate through cellphone technology because I tend to agree with the last line of paragraph 108 -- so many of the motives behind our technologies are about power, and "Our capacity to make decisions, a more genuine freedom and the space for each one's alternative creativity are diminished" by such power.

And what is this power? Jesus knew. He talks about it in Matthew 6: 24 when he says, "You cannot serve both God and wealth." Our society is hung up on wealth and materialism, and the economy has become the bottom line to the point that we've lost the big picture -- that we were not put on this earth to stimulate the planet's financial growth, but to look after one another and all of creation. Our moral, spiritual and ethical values have slipped to the side even as technology and economic growth have blinded us to reality and fragmented what little vision we have left. As the Pope and friends say at the end of paragraph 109, "We fail to see the deepest roots of our present failures, which have to do with the direction, goals, meaning, and social implications of technological and economic growth."

Paragraph 110 says it straight out: "technology makes it difficult to see the larger picture." And that larger picture is life as we know it, "appreciation for the whole, for the relationship between things, and for the broader horizon" that shows us our place in the vast goodness of all that God has made. Technology is not "the principle key to the meaning of existence" but by thinking that it is, human beings have come to a place of "environmental degradation, anxiety, a loss of the purpose of life and community living."

The sooner we remember that technology and knowledge are only tools that allow us to do what needs to be done, the better chance we have of slowing climate change, reducing consumption and saving ourselves and the rest of creation with the wisdom that comes from awareness of the big picture.

So how do we put technology in its place? Perhaps we can begin by turning it off more often, and by realizing how it's possible to live without it. Here I'm talking about these devices that surround us -- phones, computers, TVs, things that distract us or divide us from our families and communities. We can also give more thought to the use of all the machines/technical components in our lives. Are our time- or labour-saving devices really saving us time or labour? Or have we been brainwashed into believing that they make a difference in our lives as they guzzle gas or energy and create unnecessary pollution? (We often forget the pollution it takes to make these items.) Do we really need the latest techie gadget or gizmo, or is it one of those market items that will end up in our landfills sooner than later? How many single purpose appliances are filling our cupboards and taking space in our lives? Is that whisk-o-matic doohickey for frothing my hot chocolate really necessary?

No matter what our sense of entitlement or our marketers tell us, we need to consider the realities of our lives and whether our knowledge or technology will really work for us -- or against our earth. "Realities are more important than ideas," say Pope Francis and friends in the last line of paragraph 110 -- and they are 100% right.

*******

A prayer for our earth

All-powerful God, you are present in the whole universe

and in the smallest of your creatures.

You embrace with your tenderness all that exists.

Pour out upon us the power of your love,

that we may protect life and beauty.

Fill us with peace, that we may live

as brothers and sisters, harming no one.

O God of the poor,

help us to rescue the abandoned and forgotten of this earth,

so precious in your eyes.

Bring healing to our lives,

that we may protect the world and not prey on it,

that we may sow beauty, not pollution and destruction.

Touch the hearts

of those who look only for gain

at the expense of the poor and the earth.

Teach us to discover the worth of each thing,

to be filled with awe and contemplation,

to recognize that we are profoundly united

with every creature

as we journey towards your infinite light.

We thank you for being with us each day.

Encourage us, we pray, in our struggle

for justice, love and peace.

+AMEN.

(A prayer for our earth and all quotations from Laudato Si: On Care for Our Common Home © Libreria Editrice Vaticana)

Up next: #22... BOLD CULTURAL REVOLUTION, anyone?

Simple Christmas idea #9 revisited -- Attend an Advent service

It's that time of year again... Advent, a lovely, anticipatory time of reawakening the birth of Christ in our hearts, hoping for the justice and peace that our faith calls for, and looking forward to the return of light to our lives...

On Sunday at 7 p.m., the Southeast Edmonton Taize group will be praying together at Resurrection Catholic Church, 10555 50 A Street. All are welcome, and to make the experience truly ecumenical, I would invite participants to bring friends and neighbours of any denomination. Taize Prayer is open to all believers, so the more the merrier.

I love the chant below for these days of long winter darkness. You're all invited to come and sing it with us on Sunday evening.

Laudato Si: Sunday Reflection #20... WANTED: Wisdom

The Treasure Within
by Mary Southard csj
(more of her art can be found at
ministryofthearts.org)

The advancement of human beings is pretty incredible when you really think about it. It's just our wisdom hasn't kept up. In this week's 5 paragraphs of Laudato Si: On Care for Our Common Home, Pope Francis names some of the amazing technological advances of the past two centuries, and notes our need to rediscover wisdom for our planet's sake. See for yourself by clicking here and reading paragraphs 101-105.

We've completed the second chapter of Laudato Si, The Gospel of Creation, and now we are moving into Chapter three, The Human Roots of the Ecological Crisis, which will look at how "human life and activity have gone awry, to the serious detriment of the world around us." Our encyclical writers "focus on the dominant technocratic paradigm and the place of human beings and of human action in the world" (paragraph 101).

"We are the beneficiaries of two centuries of enormous waves of change" begins paragraph 102, and here's a long list of some of the changes mentioned:

steam engines
railways
the telegraph
electricity
automobiles
airplanes
chemical industries
modern medicine
information technology
digital devices
robotics
biotechnologies
nanotechnologies
domestic appliances
transportation systems
bridges, buildings and public spaces
nuclear energy
information technology
knowledge of our DNA (all in paragraphs 102-104)

And I'm sure there are many more that our writers didn't name. God-given human creativity has brought about all these wonders, many of which have vastly improved the survival and fulfillment of many human beings on earth. The problem is that these things have also given human beings "tremendous power" and dominance over one another and all God's other creatures.

The problem is that our technological advances keep occurring faster than our understanding of what they mean for all of creation in terms of "human responsibility, values and conscience" (paragraph 105). Our awareness of our limitations is clouded by human ego -- "look what we did! Isn't it incredible?!" -- preventing us from remembering that it's not just human beings who are affected by what we do with our discoveries. If we really think about it, there hasn't been a bridge built or a medical procedure invented that hasn't affected the lives of countless creatures, human and non-human, in one way or another. As has already been mentioned four times already, everything is interconnected. But we have the freedom to create, and unfortunately we don't always use wisdom to remember those connections, or use our creativity the way God intended.

The last three sentences of paragraph 105 sum it up pretty bluntly:

Our freedom fades when it is handed over to the blind forces of the unconscious, of immediate needs, of self-interest, and of violence. In this sense, we stand naked and exposed in the face of our ever-increasing power, lacking the wherewithal to control it. We have certain superficial mechanisms, but we cannot claim to have a sound ethics, a culture and spirituality genuinely capable of setting limits and teaching clear-minded self-restraint.

I'd like to underline two key words in this last bit: spirituality and self-restraint. It strikes me that, had human beings created that long list of wonders above while in spiritual, meditative relationship with God, one another, and all of creation, self-restraint would have come naturally, and wisdom would have played a much larger role in our creation of a world with fewer problems. But we humans are often in too much of a hurry to wait for Wisdom, she who calls to us so beautifully in Chapter 8 of the book of Proverbs (click here to read it).

We could all use a dose of wisdom in our lives, especially during this holy season of Advent. We succumb to such a pressured pace in December that it's no wonder we lose perspective. So this week, I would invite us all to slow down and spend some time meditating on Wisdom as she appears in Proverbs 8, and allow her love of truth and goodness to fill our hearts as we prepare for Christ's coming, and as we wait to see what will come out of the Paris Climate talks. Perhaps she can motivate us toward self-restraint when it comes to the consumerism linked to Christmas, and inspire us to find ways to walk more simply on the earth in this holy season.

*******

A prayer for our earth

All-powerful God, you are present in the whole universe

and in the smallest of your creatures.

You embrace with your tenderness all that exists.

Pour out upon us the power of your love,

that we may protect life and beauty.

Fill us with peace, that we may live

as brothers and sisters, harming no one.

O God of the poor,

help us to rescue the abandoned and forgotten of this earth,

so precious in your eyes.

Bring healing to our lives,

that we may protect the world and not prey on it,

that we may sow beauty, not pollution and destruction.

Touch the hearts

of those who look only for gain

at the expense of the poor and the earth.

Teach us to discover the worth of each thing,

to be filled with awe and contemplation,

to recognize that we are profoundly united

with every creature

as we journey towards your infinite light.

We thank you for being with us each day.

Encourage us, we pray, in our struggle

for justice, love and peace.

+AMEN.

(A prayer for our earth and all quotations from Laudato Si: On Care for Our Common Home © Libreria Editrice Vaticana)

Up next: #21... "Realities are more important than ideas"

Mateusz's gifts from the heart

On this International Day of Persons with Disabilities, here is a lovely little movie from L'Arche in Poland. I have received several such wonderful broken gifts from my friends with disabilities at L'Arche, and somehow they touch me more deeply than many of the unbroken gifts I have been given. Mateusz's smile is a gift in itself! Enjoy.

P.S. Looking for more Simple Suggestions? Click here.

Simple Suggestion # 244... Simplify your Christmas season

Today I spent a few hours with some gentle folks, leading a workshop about having a simpler, more sustainable and less stressful Christmas season. I've given the Simplifying Christmas workshop for the last seven years or so to many different groups, and today I had the unexpected pleasure of having a repeat participant! She came to me after the workshop asking if I had given the session in a certain place -- and that's when I figured out why she seemed so familiar. What was really lovely was that her 94-year-old mom also joined her, and shared some of her favourite Christmas memories.

As I listened to the dear lady talk about special Ukrainian Christmas foods, time with family and neighbours, and singing Christmas carols in three languages until the wee hours after midnight mass, I found myself yearning for a Christmas that depends less on consumerism and more on community. It's only the last 70 or 80 years that have seen Christmas shackled to shopping, and are we any happier for it?

Many of the so-called Christmas traditions that we now take for granted came out of someone's desire to make money, and generally, they aren't the things that stay in our memory through the years. Can we even recall the Christmas gifts that we received last year? I can't. But I do remember precious times shared with family and friends -- visiting, going Christmas caroling, playing a wild and crazy game of cards, tobogganing or skating, or even just going for a walk together (in our Christmas pajamas!). And what's interesting is that these happy memory moments are much kinder to our earth and its limited resources than the items on the "Christmas Must-Haves" lists compiled by marketers and consumer magazines.

So today, I'd like to suggest that we recall those simple Christmas moments, and consider ways that we can simplify the season ahead. I know I've shared plenty of Simple Christmas ideas in the past that you can read up on below, but if you don't feel like reading, check out the little 4-minute video version ... and have a gentle and joyous Advent and Christmas season...

#1 -- Decorate organically (naturally)
#2 -- Have a happy Advent (observe "anticipation")
#3 -- Have a cookie of a day (cookie bake)
#4 -- Turn off the TV (more time, more peace)
#5 -- Forgo gifts for family togetherness (presence vs. presents)
#6 -- Avoid using credit cards for gift purchases (no Christmas aftershocks in January)
#7 -- Choose charitable gifts (offered by charities)
#8 -- Make your own wish list smaller (remember what you have)
#9 -- Attend an Advent prayer service (anticipation again)
#10 -- Give food gifts (and make cooks happy)
#11 -- Be a secret angel (random acts of kindness)
#12 -- Share the gift of a personal story (family history or something funny)
#13 -- Make a micro-loan gift (support the developing world)
#14 -- Create a family calendar (a photo keepsake enjoyed all year)
#15 -- Give gifts to the homeless (warm socks or other necessities)
#16 -- Plan a few quiet evenings during the Christmas season (relax a little)
#17 -- Give homemade coupon gifts (gifts of time and talent)
#18 -- Take a Christmas stroll (enjoy the outdoors)
#19 -- Consider a community gift (share-able presents)
#20 -- Feed the birds (gift our feathered friends)
#21 -- Hold your own candlelit concert (enjoy music at home)
#22 -- Try something other than wrapping paper (avoid wasting paper)
#23 -- Go carolling (sing for neighbours and friends)
#24 -- Bake a birthday cake for Jesus (and share it)
#25 -- Serve Christmas dinner buffet-style (simplify)
#26 -- Adopt a gifts-in, gifts-out policy (the true meaning of Boxing Day)
#27 -- Play a simple game (parlour games and family interaction)
#28 -- Have a meatless meal (be kind to the animals)
#29 -- Get enough sleep (be kind to yourself)
#30 -- Set up a new Christmas giving box (think ahead)
#31 -- Dance! (enjoy your body's ability to move)